


to find the light and then become it

by tomorrowisforeverallours



Series: one day we'll all be stories [2]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Conspiracy Theories, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Not super Graphic, Pirates, Romance, Sailing, and sun similes, too many blue similes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23970961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomorrowisforeverallours/pseuds/tomorrowisforeverallours
Summary: no one said this would be easySink does the honors of introducing them. Winters offers him a hand; Nix does not hesitate to take it. His palm is rough and warm, grip just shy of uncomfortable. “Pleasure to meet you, Captain Nixon,” he says in a voice as smooth as molasses.Nix knows his vices: he is prone to sloth, inseparable from the bottle, and liable to lose all common sense when presented with a pretty face.This last is how he knows Dick Winters is dangerous.
Relationships: (mentioned) - Relationship, Johnny Martin/Bull Randleman, Joseph Liebgott/David Kenyon Webster, Lewis Nixon/Richard Winters
Series: one day we'll all be stories [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1400515
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	to find the light and then become it

**Author's Note:**

> so. this is the long-awaited direct sequel to saltwater and parsley, my sharkman webgott fic that is so ridiculously long nobody read it. nevertheless, I'm really happy with this fic and i do still have plans for two more installments of this series :) 
> 
> featuring my signature self-hating nix, some non-lethal violence, and a twist ending that i think you guys will find interesting...
> 
> also, as before, the titles of these works come from my friend noah's music, which you can find [here!](https://continental-drift.bandcamp.com/album/all-the-things-that-happened-after) Give it a listen, will you?

He wants to stare at the sun forever. 

His eyes are watering, lids fluttering, but he squints to keep them open until he no longer can. The insides of his eyelids glow red, impressing upon him just how much power the sun has over them; he welcomes it like the sight of an old lover. He never wants to be out of her reach again. 

It is a vow Nixon intends to keep. 

* * *

His first official order of business after Sobel leaves with the military is to expunge every remnant of the man’s presence from the ship, starting with his quarters. 

He takes Lipton to the cabin to help him sort through things, leaving Bull and Martin in charge of the deck with orders to arrange everything the way it used to be before Sobel’s incessant reorganization. As soon as the door clicks shut, Nix finds himself squeezed in a bear hug from behind by Lipton.

"Oof. Hey, what’s this for?” he asks awkwardly, wriggling around to face him. 

“I’m sorry,” Lipton mumbles over his shoulder. “I’m sorry we let him do that to you and David. We should’ve stopped this when they attacked Liebgott.” 

A wave of fondness for his best sailor sweeps through him, and Nix willingly returns the hug. Each one of his men had done their best to contain the damage done by Sobel’s mutiny, whether it was Malarkey sneaking them food, Skip and Penkala fooling around to keep up their spirits, or Lipton's quiet resistance. The man had led in his absence before, whether it was business or pleasure, but there is no greater endorsement than that of a united crew in a time of mutiny. 

Their loyalty to him is rivalled only by their loyalty to Lipton, but Nix could never feel threatened by that. 

“Hey, no apologies necessary,” he says. “There was nothing you could’ve done.” 

“We could have fought back.” 

“And for all you knew, Sobel would have you all hanged for treason,” Nix retorts. “There was a reason I wanted to take the blame for this. Let’s just thank the Gods or whatever that it all worked out the way it did.” 

Because the thought of having to appeal to his father for deliverance is repulsive. Nix is perfectly content with the limited contact he has with Stanhope Nixon: he takes shipping contracts for the man, and in return he maintains captainship of  _ Currahee.  _ No more, no less. 

Thinking of what might have been is enough to drive Nix to drink, not that there is far to go. He strides across the cabin to his liquor chest, fishes out a bottle of his favorite whiskey and takes a long pull from it, and only the Gods know how much he’s needed it. He’d blamed the shakes on the damp and drafty conditions of the brig, but Nix is intimately aware of their true cause and loath to experience them ever again.

The burn seizes his throat and reminds him that against all odds, he is still alive. He grins at Lipton. “Alright, mate. Time for a long-overdue cleansing.”

* * *

Four days have passed by the time Nix deems his ship completely disinfected of Sobel’s presence, and the change is perhaps more obvious in his crew than anything else. 

Nix has never seen Martin smile so much, especially not at men who aren’t Bull. He has never seen the young replacement sailors, Garcia and his friends, stroll across the deck with such confidence that they belong there. He has never seen Malarkey so  _ disappointed  _ to be isolated in the galley, which is saying something considering how much the man resents his job. 

_ This  _ is the  _ Currahee  _ that Nix loves: this bunch of rowdy, hardworking men who accept anyone from a naive aristocrat to his impudent Mer paramour, as long as they have a common enemy. 

Liebgott -  _ Prince Joseph,  _ Gods - had gotten the hell off of the ship as soon as he’d the chance. Nix does not blame him in the slightest, though he laments not getting to properly know the Mer. From what he’d gathered of Webster’s enamored-yet-often-exasperated ramblings, they ought to have gotten along well. 

Webster, on the other hand, had departed only the day before, citing a need to travel home and “wrap up some unfinished business.” 

Nix had found himself surprisingly melancholy at the prospect of their parting. There is nothing quite like a stint in a dungeon cell to bond two men together, and he’d found himself hoping Web might decide to remain on the  _ Currahee,  _ for what he lacks in sailing experience he makes up for with pure enthusiasm. 

But Nix knows all too well the life of a nobleman’s son, and so he does not begrudge Webster his responsibilities. 

Besides, he has a feeling in his bones that they will meet again. 

For now, Nix simply enjoys the brief chance at relaxation before they set off. The overseer of his father’s Port Toccoa warehouse is arranging their next shipment, he’s a whole case of Vat69 to enjoy, and Colonel Sink had sent word of a financial reward promised for his men. It is the very least they deserve after thwarting an unknown antagonist’s warmongering. 

The Navy officer and his entourage arrive early the next morning, as Nix is busy obtaining the details of their new shipping deal from his father’s lackey. The man is busy ineffectually searching for Aldbourne on his map. Nix watches him with half-lidded eyes, nursing his flask.

“Mister Nixon!” 

It is the use of his full surname that is most bewildering. Nix turns to find Colonel Sink strolling onto his ship, trailed by a nervous private with a briefcase and a smart-looking ginger in a crisp white uniform. 

It is the latter that draws the lion’s share of Nix’s attention. His posture is naturally straight, unlike Sobel’s stick-up-the-ass stance; he appears as though he was born to wear the uniform. Fiery hair that Nix desperately wants to tousle complements a handsome face with enough freckles to signify his familiarity with a hard day’s work. And his eyes, oh, his eyes are the sky, endlessly clear and honest as he returns Nix’s appraising gaze. He quirks an eyebrow and the corner of the man’s mouth twitches, as though to return the look. 

Interesting. 

“Colonel Sink,” he says, strolling forward to meet them. He makes sure to lock eyes with the mystery officer as he performs a blasé salute. “Long time no see.” 

“Nixon. Got your compensation here, as I promised.” 

Nix claps his hands together sharply. “Wonderful. Hey, Bull!” 

As the only other person on deck, the boatswain looks up from his task of repairing a sail. “Aye, Cap’n?” 

“Get all hands on deck, would ya? The Navy’s got a little something for everyone.” 

Bull’s mouth curves amusedly around the needle that has momentarily displaced his cigar as he gets to his feet. “Sure thing, Nix.” A stroll across the deck and a few booming hollers later, his men are stumbling bleary-eyed into the sunlight, snapping to attention when they spot the Colonel. (Martin, in particular, is in the midst of an extremely colorful denunciation of his best friend when he realizes their company. His jaw audibly clacks shut. Bull laughs.) 

“Make sure everyone’a these men gets a note,” Sink instructs, graciously ignoring his master gunner’s language. “Good for a hundred gold a’piece, courtesy of His Majesty.” 

Nix grins as his crew whoops with shock and delight, gossiping eagerly about all the potential uses of such a bonus. Some of them will send it back to their wives and families, no doubt; others will seize their first chance to piss it away on liquor. (If asked, Nix would suggest the latter, but he is admittedly biased.) 

As they arrange themselves in a not-quite-line to receive their promissory notes, Nix turns back to Colonel Sink and the stranger. His blue eyes sparkle as he surveys the exuberant crowd. 

Sink does the honors of introducing them. “Nixon, this is Lieutenant Dick Winters. Winters, Lewis Nixon the… second?” 

“Third.”

Winters offers him a hand; Nix does not hesitate to take it. His palm is rough and warm, grip just shy of uncomfortable. “Pleasure to meet you, Captain Nixon,” he says in a voice as smooth as molasses. 

He is rather certain he fails to conceal his interest, especially when he retorts, “Oh, the pleasure is all mine, Lieutenant,” and the man smiles. 

Nix knows his vices: he is prone to sloth, inseparable from the bottle, and liable to lose all common sense when presented with a pretty face.

This last is how he knows Dick Winters is dangerous. 

“So, how can I help you, gentlemen?” he asks to distract himself. 

The Colonel pulls an odd expression; it is one of almost hesitation, and entirely unfitting for the grizzled old man. “Well, m’boy, I’ve got a request for you, but I’m afraid you might not like it. I’d like your permission to station Dick on the  _ Currahee  _ for the time bein’.” 

Nix does not intend to offend, but he cannot help an incredulous laugh.. He’d put up with Sobel’s foolishness for an entire year at the behest of his father, and it had culminated in the man stealing his ship away at swordpoint. As pretty as this Winters is, it is not an experience he is interested in repeating. 

“Er, with all due respect, Colonel, it’s been less than a week,” he says. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what happened last time I allowed a Navy officer, commissioned or not, to work on my ship. If you’d like a reminder, I’ll gladly show you around the brig.” 

“Of course I ain’t forgot,” Sink growls. “But this is different.” 

“How so?”

“Captain Sobel is a reserve officer,” says Winters, locking eyes with Nix. There is not a shred of indignation at what could have easily been interpreted as a slight against his integrity; the man is nothing but honest. “His capacity on your ship was as a civilian until he received that fabricated letter.” 

“And what? You can  _ legally  _ take over? Great, just what I was worried about.” 

His sarcasm earns him the slightest frown. “That’s not - what I mean to say, Captain, is that I am under no delusions as to the extent of my authority.” 

“Okay, so you know what you can and can’t get away with. You’re not doing a great job of convincing me, Lieutenant,” he quips, more satisfied than he ought to be when a spark of exasperation flares in those sky blue eyes. He wants to see that mask crack. 

Unfortunately, Colonel Sink interrupts with a proper explanation. “Look, to put it bluntly, Nixon, you and your men foiled somebody’s plans for war. Now, we ain’t got a goddamn clue who it was or what else they might have up their sleeve, but it’s a fair assumption that they might want revenge on ya. That’s why I want Lieutenant Winters on your ship. I got more faith in this man than any of my other officers, and he knows just what sort of, well, bullshit Sobel might’a put them through.” 

“Captain Sobel was my commanding officer on my first ship,” Winters says in response to Nix’s inquisitive look. The wry twist to his mouth is the only indication that he was not entirely pleased with the experience. 

Nix has to look away before that attractive face convinces him to do something impulsive like agree to this plan. The memory of Sobel’s mutiny echoes in his head like an alarm bell. 

But there is reason to the Colonel’s suggestion, and the thought of Nix’s men being targeted because of their loyalty to him is almost more than he can bear. Winters’ presence would not prevent such a thing, of course, but such a show of support by the Navy might discourage their would-be attackers and ensure that were anything to happen, the  _ Currahee  _ would not stand alone. 

“This isn’t a decision I can make single-handedly,” he says, coming to a realization. “ _ Oi!  _ Circle up!” 

His men congregate in a rough circle, most using their promissory notes to fan themselves in the blossoming morning heat. Nix explains the situation briefly before requesting his crew’s input; he is not sure what to expect, but their immediate endorsement surprises him. 

“Hey, why the hell not?” 

“We can always take him out if he tries anything funny.” 

“I like him! He looks nice!” 

“You can’t judge someone’s character based on their looks, Skip.” 

“Well, Sobel looked like a bitch, and he was a bitch, so…” 

Nix snorts at that last one. “I guess we’re in agreement. All in favor of letting Winters sail with us while they track down the bastards that started this?” A rousing cheer of “Aye”s fills the air. “Great! Winters, you’re in. Lip, where’re you at?” 

From the midst of the crowd emerges Lipton, who approaches curiously and takes the time to properly salute the Navy officers. “What can I do for you, Cap’n?” he asks, completely oblivious as to Nix’s intent. 

The man’s never been one to seek attention, so Nix can only trust that he will not grow overwhelmed. “I’ve got an announcement to make,” he calls above the chatter, and gives Lipton a smile. “Since Sobel is never setting foot on this ship again, I’ve got some vacancies to fill. Quiet, I’m still talking here!” he shouts as the men begin to catch onto his meaning, grinning and jostling each other like proud parents. Lipton, however, is still watching him with a vaguely baffled expression. “Now, the man was technically my first mate, but I think I’ll retire that position. What I do need, though, is a quartermaster, since he insisted on doing that job too. D’you see where I’m going here, Lip?” 

“Er, I’m afraid not, sir,” says Lipton. “Perhaps Lieutenant Winters would be fit for the job?” 

Nix’s gaze darts to the man, who appears shocked but quickly softens, eyes flicking skyward in what is as close to an eyeroll as he might get. “Uh, no,” says Nix. “I was thinking you, Lip.” 

While the entire crew cheers and chants his name, Lipton is flabbergasted, mimicking Webster in his open-mouthed surprise.

"Sorry… me, sir?" he asks, soft and disbelieving.

Nix knows he has more pride than most - a Nixon trait - but he still wonders how his best sailor is so blind as to his own importance. "Yeah, you," he laughs. "Who else would I choose? You held this crew together when I couldn't. You helped them put up with Sobel in times where all I could do was drink and try not to shove the man overboard." Scattered snickers abound. "And you know how to do the job better than he did. There's no one I would rather have as my second, Lip. Now, will you accept the damn job or are you going to make me look like a fool in front of these Navy folks?" 

A swift hush falls over the crew as all hands eagerly await his response. Lipton looks uncertain for a brief moment, but Nix watches the glint of resolve dawn in his eyes before a slow grin spreads across his face. 

The crew’s cheers completely eclipse Lipton’s response, but there is no denying his answer. Nix wraps him in a quick hug before surrendering him to the men’s carousing. (Skip and Hoobler are trying to pick the man up, but Lip is built quite sturdier than Nix and they nearly drop him.)

Nix navigates through the reveling crowd to rejoin Winters and Sink on the other side. The Colonel is taking his leave; he pauses halfway down the gangplank. “Where ya headed to next, Nixon?” 

“Aldbourne,” he responds. 

“Ah, a long one, eh? Well, safe travels to you. Lieutenant Winters, make sure you send that messenger pigeon when you arrive.” 

“Yes, sir,” says Winters, straightening to attention and saluting the man. He is taller than Nix by an inch, perhaps, and he is not sure how to feel about it. “I promise to protect Captain Nixon and his men.” 

“Good, son.” 

When he's gone Nix turns to Winters, one eyebrow cocked. "You're planning on  _ protecting  _ us, are you?" he teases. 

A pale flush rises in the man's cheeks, hiding only a minuscule amount of the freckles that dot his skin like stardust. "I’ll do my best," he says honestly, almost fervently, strands of his ginger hair glowing in the direct sunlight. “You’ve done the Kingdom quite a service, Captain - you and your crew. The least we can do is ensure your safety.” 

There is no doubt that he means it; Dick Winters seems the type to say nothing at all rather than tell a lie. Nix looks away, unable to hold his gaze for long. “Well, Lieutenant-” 

“Please,” he interrupts, “you can just call me Dick. I may be here on behalf of the Navy, but I wouldn’t want any special treatment.” 

“Dick, huh,” Nix muses, a strange sun-warm feeling in his chest. He’s certainly never met a Navy man like this. “Well, call me Nix, then. Everyone else does.” 

Dick nods, appraising him thoughtfully with the slightest twitch of his lips betraying his stoic expression. “Nix, it is, then.” 

Something about the sound of his name in that satin-smooth voice flusters him more than any direct flirtation, drawing blood to his face. It has been much too long, Nix decides, since he’s taken someone to bed, if he's getting all hot and bothered from a  _ voice. _

He calls the men to attention to distract himself. “Oi, listen up,” he shouts, waiting until their chattering settles down thanks to a stern glare from Martin. “We’ve got a new job, direct shipping to Aldbourne. I want all hands on deck at sunrise to set off. Until then, the port is your oyster,” he grins, making a shooing gesture to signal that the men are free to roam. 

With that, nearly the entire crew stampedes off the deck, sweeping Lipton along with them. Nix laughs and waves the protesting quartermaster along. Hopefully he'll take the opportunity to let loose a bit, relax with the men before he reverts to his typical overworked self. 

In a matter of moments, the deck is virtually abandoned. Shifty looks like he's considering taking a nap in the crow's nest, and of course Martin and Bull are hanging around, content with each other’s company. 

"You sailing with just the clothes on your back, or?" asks Nix. 

"Oh. No, I ought to go back to barracks and say my farewells," says Dick. "Will you be here when I return, or are you going to celebrate with your men?" 

It is a difficult question to answer. Nix would love to go and buy Lip a round, coax the man into relenting until his face is a drunken pink, and observe the shenanigans of the night. But the damn responsible half of him knows what he ought to do. Not that it will be much of a burden, if he gets to know a little more of Dick Winters. 

"I'll be here," he says. "No better place to be in this harbor than on the  _ Currahee. _ " 

He keeps his word, although he is marginally less sober by the time Winters returns to the ship, a well-worn pack in tow. Flask in hand, Nix hangs precariously from the mainmast rigging, rope digging into the arches of his feet as he looks down upon the Navy officer. 

“Hey, you made it back!” he cheers, absently noting the slur to his words and the burning tingle in his cheeks that cannot be solely from the whiskey. He toasts the man. “Didn’t get lost, I see.” 

Dick looks up at him and raises his eyebrows the slightest bit, humor sparkling in those baby blues. Nix wonders how the sky he had been staring at has fallen below him. 

“I’m afraid not all Navy officers are as blessed with directions as Captain Sobel,” he quips. 

Nix laughs so hard he nearly falls off the rigging. 

“Oh, mate,” he wheezes when he can form words again, “my men will  _ love  _ you. Alright. Catch this? I’m coming down.” 

He nearly fumbles the toss of his flask, but Dick lunges impressively and manages to catch it. His liquor safe, Nix turns and begins to climb down. He has climbed these ropes a thousand times, and a thousand more times while sober, so it is no drunken accident that his foot slips on the last ratline and he tilts backwards only to collide with a steady, warm chest as a set of hands catches his waist. 

“You ought to be careful, Nix,” chides Dick, breath fanning across the back of his neck. “Wouldn’t do for the  _ Currahee  _ to lose her captain to a drunken accident.” 

Eyes wide, Nix looks skyward and wills himself to have the resolve not to do anything stupid while Dick Winters is on his ship. He has to force himself to step away, steadying himself with a hand on the rope. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m a functional drunk. Almost a professional, you could say. Now, come on, I’ll show you around.” 

He leads Dick below, not bothering to go all the way down to the hold but instead showing him around the crew’s quarters and the gun deck. Between his rambling explanations, he does his best to answer the man’s questions. 

“How many hands strong is your crew?” 

“Oh, fifty or so, last I counted ‘em. I’m sure Lip could tell you the exact number, and all of their life stories, too.” 

“Has Lipton been with you the longest?” 

“Nah, that’d be Johnny Martin, my gunner. Angry little bastard,” Nix laughs. “Known him since we were teens. We both used  _ Currahee  _ to escape our families. Difference is, I was just a troublemaker who wanted adventure, and he was trying to escape an arranged marriage and a lifetime of being called ‘Missus.’” 

"Oh," says Dick. 

"Yeah, they showed up with a guard, demanding to know what I'd done with their 'daughter,'" Nix rolls his eyes. "Walked the guard around and when he couldn't find any women, he told 'em off for wasting his time." 

He laughs, but his eyes carefully scan every bit of Dick's expression for the barest hint of disapproval. The man may have a pretty face, but Nix will banish him to the ends of the earth if he dares look at Johnny the wrong way. 

Thankfully, he has nothing to fear. The lines of Dick's face soften until he is nothing but a charming, fresh-faced boy, expression all relief and what could almost be reverence. "I see. It took a while to get used to calling my sister Ann instead of - well, her other name. But we've adapted. I'm glad Martin has a friend like you to rely on. You're a good man, Nix."

Honesty saturates every word, and his eyes are so big and so  _ goddamn  _ blue that for a moment Nix almost wants to believe him. Dick Winters seems the type to know what good is. Perhaps the gods have entrusted him with its definition.

If he were sober, perhaps the message would stick. Intoxicated Nix simply laughs. "Oh, you'll change your mind after a while. Com'on, I'll show you th' brig." 

Sure enough, they head to the bow where, tucked away behind a cargo room overflowing with new supplies, there is the cramped room he and Webster had spent the better part of a month locked in. The scholar had tallied the days on the wall with his thumbnail. 

Nix isn’t sure why he felt the need to point the room out to Winters. He doesn’t want the man’s pity. Perhaps he means to imply,  _ this is what Sobel did to us. Are you going to be the same way?  _

Or perhaps he means to imply,  _ Don’t underestimate the drunk captain. I’m tougher than I look.  _

Or perhaps he means to imply,  _ I’m not alone in there anymore, but I’m still so fucking lonely.  _

Whatever his subconscious intends, Dick glances over the cell. His expression is unreadable, mouth pressed thin, and his fingers drum lightly against the doorframe as he looks to Nix. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

Out of all the questions Nix had been expecting, this is not one of them. 

“What?” he says. 

Dick repeats himself, blue eyes boring into Nix’s own brown ones earnestly. His men have done so much for him, but no one had ever asked him that, and he hadn’t wanted them to - not only because it is his job to worry about them and not vice versa, but because the honest answer would not have been pleasant. 

When faced with the question, though, Nix doesn’t know what to say. It feels as though it would be the easiest thing in the world to be honest with Dick Winters, but the sight of the bars on his uniform are a strict reminder that the man is still an outsider.

As genuine as he may seem, his loyalties do not lie with Nix.

In the end, he tells the truth after all. “I don’t know,” he shrugs, watching Winters’ expression fall imperceptibly. “I’m alive, so there’s that. Who knows, maybe you can help me figure it out.” 

He intends it as a joke, a meaningless comment to end the conversation, but Dick looks at him as though  _ Nix  _ is a puzzle, and to stare long enough will be to see into his soul and begin to piece together the story of its fractures, bit by bit. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Maybe.” 

Nix clears his throat, suddenly too warm. “Well, uh, let’s move on. There’s nothing to see below this unless you’d like to look through our stores. Let’s head up to the quarters.” 

Luckily, Dick only nods. 

It’s when they’ve gotten to the quarterdeck that Nix has a realization. “Oh. Shit,” he mumbles wryly. 

“Hmm?” 

“I, uh, I promised my surgeon that when all of this was over, I’d give him my cabin as a proper sick bay,” Nix says, opening the door to the officer’s deck. “I was going to take Sobel’s. But it’s fine, I’ll just bunk with the men.” It won’t be the first time he’s done it, and he isn’t about to force a Navy officer to endure their shenanigans. Nor will he go back on his word to Spina. 

Dick’s eyes go wide. “No, I don’t mind,” he says immediately, lips pursed. “I would prefer bunking with the men to having a cabin to myself, honestly. You’re the Captain.” 

“And you’re a Navy Lieutenant. And a guest.” He conveniently doesn’t mention that Webster had bunked in the crew’s quarters; the kid had been overly eager to share their company. 

Instead of answering, Dick walks forward and opens the doors. The larger cabin is Nix’s, furnished with his trusty liquor chest and wardrobe, a small desk, and a bunk built into the wall. The other is empty save for a hammock, Lipton having sent Sobel’s things off to the Navy barracks. 

He glances inside, then back to Nix. “There’s room for a hammock there. If we squeeze, we could share. If that’s something you’re comfortable with.” 

It is a bad idea. Nix  _ knows  _ it is a bad idea, knows that close quarters will only exacerbate the chances of his doing something foolish. And yet he shrugs. "Sounds fine to me. As long as you're willing to kick my ass out of bed in the mornings."

Dick smiles. "I'm sure that won't be a problem." 

"Well, great. That's settled.” Nix gestures for the man to leave his things in the room. He’ll have to get someone to set things right before they set sail, but right now, he needs another drink. "Well. That's about it," he says with a flamboyant wave. " _ Currahee  _ in all her glory." 

"She's a beautiful vessel, Nix." 

"You're damn right she is. Finest in the Nixon fleet." He drinks, unminding of the possibility for judgment. He wouldn’t have gotten nearly as far as he has were he a self-conscious drunk. "Now, I'll answer any and all of your questions once we're back on deck. Someone's gotta keep an eye on those rascals."

It coaxes a low chuckle out of Dick that threatens to undermine Nix's resolve. "Whatever you'd like, Captain."

"...right."

* * *

Dick Winters proves to be full of surprises. 

Nix would be jealous of how quickly the  _ Currahee _ adopts Dick Winters as a pseudo-captain, if he were not grappling with his own newfound fondness for the man. To get too close would be a mistake, and he knows it. But Captain Nix is a connoisseur of fine liquor and finer men, and Dick Winters is a fine, fine specimen of masculinity. 

The sexual attraction is nothing new. Nix prides himself on being a bit of a whore, and no one in their right mind could deny that Lieutenant Winters is gorgeous. But it’s been much too long since he’s taken interest in someone for more than looks, and Nix finds himself quickly dismayed by just how easy it is to like Dick Winters. 

That first night, instead of sequestering himself in his cabin, Nix watches him converse with the men long into the night. He and Lipton strike up a particularly quick friendship; then again, Lip could convince his own worst enemy to fall in love with him with nothing more than a few words of genuine camaraderie. And in the morning when they set out for Aldbourne, Dick is right with them hoisting the sails. He gives orders like a Navy officer should -- firmly, yet benevolently, and only after he’s made sure his is the best course of action. Against all odds, his presence makes Nix feel safe. 

Of course, nothing is as it seems. 

It is a calm, bright day, not long after they've left Port Toccoa, the breeze wafting across their noses as fresh as a batch of clean linens. Nix has migrated to the top deck with his logbook to chart their course, accompanied by Lipton who has wholeheartedly embraced the task of inventorying their stores.

Skip is threatening Penkala with a spoon, Martin is hollering for no discernible reason, and life is good. 

He is plotting their route when a flicker of movement at the top of his vision catches his attention. Nix glances up at the falcon circling overhead, intrigued when it spirals down to land; by the way it digs its claws into his arm and squawks, it was clearly sent to deliver its message to him.

“Well, hello,” he mumbles, frowning as he is gifted with nothing but scratches for his manners. “Ow, bastard. What is it you want?” 

“Expecting a letter, Captain?” asks Lipton. 

“Er, not as far as I know. I didn’t think most birds could even track ships,” he says, unlacing the letter tied to its foot. The falcon pins him with an uncannily sharp look and takes off.

Nix’s gaze trails it as it flutters over to Dick, busy receiving a crash course in Bull’s line management techniques, and alights on his shoulder. He dwells on the surprised delight that subsumes Dick’s focus as he fondly greets the peregrine, his cheeks sunkissed and hair a coppery halo.

“Must be his, then,” says Lipton curiously. 

“I suppose it must be.” Nix gets to his feet, approaching the group of men. “Hey, Dick! Nice bird.”

“She’s not mine, officially,” says Dick, a knuckle skimming the underside of the falcon’s neck as she preens. “Tess is one of the Navy’s messengers, but I’ve worked with her since I was a private. She’s fond enough of me that she can track me. I don’t know why she’s here, though. Did Colonel Sink send us something?”

Nix scrutinizes the letter, finding no distinguishing seal or sender. “Somehow, I don’t think this is from him. Here.” 

Dick passes Tess to Shifty (who had scrambled down to the deck as soon as he’d noticed the bird, eyes bright) so he can open the letter.

Were Nix not so learned in reading the minutia of facial expressions, he would have missed the subtle alarm that flashes across Dick’s face. As it is, he takes the worry that floods through him with a grain of salt. "Is everything alright?” 

Dick is eerily still. “I don’t think this is for me,” he says calmly, passing the note along. 

"Huh?" Nix accepts it again, unfolding the letter; his blood runs ice-cold as he reads it. 

_ You'd best watch yourself, Captain Nixon. It won't be that easy to stop us. _

Nix swallows, tongue heavy in his mouth as he scans the inconspicuous handwriting. Whoever had orchestrated Sobel's blunder is still watching them, then. But how closely?

Most of Nix's hands he would trust with his life. Even those he is more official with he still considers fine men. Is it possible there lies another mole on his ship? 

Or could it be that the Navy is what ties this conspiracy together?

"Is there something wrong, Captain?" asks Lipton, but he is not listening. Nix pins Winters' gaze in an intense staredown, brown searching blue for a hint of anything remotely suspicious. 

The extent to which the lieutenant's response is completely honest, sky blue eyes reflecting nothing but concern for Nix as well as his men, almost angers him, because in any other man such a response would be questionable in and of itself, and yet Dick Winters seems just that  _ good _ .

He is loath to clear the man's name that quickly, though. "We should talk," he says. "Lip, cabin?" 

"Aye, sir." 

"That's fine by me," says Dick. "You wouldn't mind putting this on hold, would you, Bull?"

"Ain't a problem, sir."

"Great." Nix leads the way towards the navigation cabin without checking to see if he is followed. There's no point in trying to dissuade the men's curiosity, so he allows the chattering; they'll all know sooner rather than later, and if they are in danger then he can't rightly keep it a secret, now can he? When both Lipton and Winters have filed in behind him, Nix shuts the door to the cabin with his foot.

"What's going on, Captain?"

"Here." Nix hands the letter over for Lipton to read, his gaze never straying from Winters' face. Perhaps if he stares hard enough he will see the mask crack, he thinks, but Dick remains steadfast, matching Nix's challenge with a look of his own as if to say, "I have nothing to hide."

"So," he drawls, "what do you think, Lip?"

He is vaguely amused at how horrified his quartermaster appears. Of course Lipton wouldn't be used to death threats, being the kind-hearted soul that he is, whereas Nix almost expects his regular mail to include at least one strongly worded letter every time they dock. "This is bad, Captain. Whoever sent this doesn't sound like they're playing around."

"I don't think they are. Who do you think it was?"

"The sender? Well, obviously someone whose plans were ruined when we let the Prince go. But I don't think we can narrow down their identity further than that, sir."

"We can," says Dick, taking both of them by surprise. Nix frowns but allows him to speak his mind, with the feeling that they are on the same page. "The only people who would have known to send Tess if they wanted to contact me are my fellow officers and the royal postal workers. So someone must have tricked them into spilling that information, and then somehow sent this message."

"Unless they didn't need to trick anyone," says Nix. "Say, Lieutenant, wouldn't it be beneficial for the Navy if we went to war with the Mer?" 

By the way the man's eyes widen, his implications have not gone unnoticed, but Nix states his thoughts anyway, for the sake of mere dramatics. "Plenty of money to be made from war, at least for the ones not doing the fighting. Especially with such a universal enemy. You'd almost be guaranteed support from the Kingdom's allies if they thought it was a righteous enough cause." 

An ember of smug satisfaction smolders into a flame that burns in his belly as Nix watches the mask crack, just a bit. Dick's lips tighten into a perfect bowstring and his posture almost impossibly straightens. "Are you suggesting, Captain Nixon, that a ranking officer in the Navy might be contending for war in the hopes of achieving personal gain?"

Nix shrugs nonchalantly. "Not necessarily... there might be multiple people involved."

He smirks, prepared to witness what might be an amusing denial, but Dick is oddly quiet. Lipton, on the other hand, has no issues with expressing his disbelief. "You don't really think it could be a Navy man, do you, Nix? I mean, there is so much more risk than reward with this situation. And are there men so greedy that they would drive the whole world to chaos for their own good?"

Oh, Lipton. "That's a rhetorical question, I hope," says Nix, taking a swig from his flask. "You know there are, Lip. Look at Sobel."

"But he at least thought he was following orders."

"And he was willing to take us to war with those orders to suck up to Colonel Sink. See what I mean?" Nix leans back against the table in the center of the room, the alcohol forcing him into momentary awareness of the ship's sway beneath his feet. "Isn’t a military man you can trust, unless you've known them since... birth, maybe. Oh, no offense, Lieutenant." 

"I see what you're trying to do, Captain," says Dick, clearly unamused; Nix blinks, not expecting his challenge to be taken up so directly. He tries not to be too pleased. "And as loath as I am to admit that an officer might have a hand in this, it seems like that may be the most likely option." 

"Really?" asks Lipton.

"Wait, really?" asks Nix.

"The letter that Captain Sobel received from -- well, who he  _ thought _ was Major Horton, must have traveled through legitimate means," he says. "Sobel is a stickler for protocol; he wouldn't have entertained the thought of such a thing as kidnapping a Mer if he weren't completely convinced that he was following orders. So whoever is orchestrating this must have regular access to military channels." He steps forward and plucks the flask out of Nix's hands to hold it hostage, which would offend him greatly if he weren't so paralyzed by the earnest look he wears. "I understand your suspicions, Captain Nix. Were I in your position, I would be wary as well. I swore to do what I could to protect you on this journey, and if you feel that requires protecting your men from me, I am willing to submit to whatever restrictions you find necessary." 

Nix gapes, sharing a flabbergasted look with Lip as well. To compromise his autonomy for the safety of his men is a sacrifice Nix would make every time, but for Winters to offer such a thing to an unknown crew? He is, perhaps more explicitly than ever, trusting Nix with his life. 

He swallows. "Are you sure the sea air hasn't gotten to you, Winters? You do know what you're offering." 

"I do." 

This crazy, angelic bastard. Nix laughs, shattering the blanket of tension like glass, and snatches his flask back for a drink that he desperately needs to cope with the rush of admiration he feels. "Oh, come off it, I'm not going to lock you up or something like that. I'm pretty sure the gods would strike me down if I tried. We'll just have to watch our backs. I have some connections that I can reach out to when we get to Aldbourne, see if they can track down any clues." 

Dick nods. "I'll do my best to do the same." 

"Good. Lip, I want you to update the men tonight. Give 'em all the details, no point in leaving anything out. We'll brief them on how to act in port when we get closer to land." 

Lipton nods, one hand absently rubbing the scar on his cheek. "You don't think they might try something in the town, do you, Captain?" 

"I have no clue. But it's better to be safe than sorry."

* * *

“Nice sailing weather we’ve had, isn’t it, Captain?” says Dick. 

Lost in the bottle as he is, Nix hadn’t even heard him approach. He’s spent the last hour staring out across the moonlit plane of the ocean’s surface, his thoughts skating like a clumsy water spider’s dance from past to future, anxieties and comforts and everything in between. 

The entire day had been a reflective one; it always is.

Belatedly he turns, looks back at the man. Dick is silhouetted against the full moon, looming out of the darkness like one of Nix’s many phantoms, but he is smiling faintly and that makes all the difference. He’s been on the  _ Currahee  _ for a month now, but Dick is somehow still an enigma to Nix, a riddle he intends on solving. 

“...Aye, it has been,” he says. “Better than it ought to be, for so far into the rainy season.” 

“We’d best pray it lasts.” 

Nix laughs despite himself. “Oh, I don’t do the praying on this ship. I just live my life and hope the gods ignore me long enough to let me have a good one.” 

Dick raises an eyebrow, lips quirked into a hint of a smile. “Is that so?” 

“Sure is.” He drinks, relishing the burn of Vat69 down his throat. “Muck and Malarkey are the ones that keep  _ Currahee  _ afloat, as far as the gods are concerned. Wasting all that good ale… just the thought of it kills me.” 

That coaxes a chuckle out of the man. “And you’re not afraid of being struck down for, I don’t know, blasphemy?” 

“Me? Dick, if the gods were going to take notice of my bullshit, it would’ve happened a long time ago,” says Nix. “Don’t worry, it’s not like I don’t believe in them. I’ve seen too much for that. And I’ve got to have one of them on my side, I think, or maybe they just like to laugh at me and that’s why I’m not dead yet. But I see no point in trying to cater to their every whim in hopes that they might not smite me. If I die, I die.” 

Dick is quiet, but he steps up to lean on the ship’s railing beside Nix. Their forearms touch like the flutter of a moth’s wings together. 

“I’ll pray for you, Lewis,” he says softly. 

The words strike him like a cannon to the chest, punching the air from his lungs in naught but a shallow puff despite their intensity, and prayer doesn’t mean much to Nix but it obviously means so  _ much _ to Dick, and to think that he would devote that much energy to hoping for his well-being is too much to bear.

“Don’t,” he rasps, the word catching in his throat. “You-you don’t have to.” 

"And if I want to?" asks Dick. 

"Well- well, I won't be stopping you, but it'd be a waste of your time trying to redeem me in the eyes of the gods."

"I don't think so," says Dick, and Nix has to look away before he does something he’d surely regret. His eyes catch on the smooth skin of Dick's forearm, smattered with the occasional pink rippling scar, and he ends up touching him before he can help it. 

His skin is so warm. 

Dick leaves his hand where it is, their pulsepoints overlapping, beating in time. "Lipton asked me to keep an eye on you today," he says, "but he didn't say why. Is everything alright?"

Nix laughs. He can’t help it, not when he’s so irrationally amused by his first mate’s concern, even if it means he has to spill the beans. “He would, wouldn’t he? No, I’m fine. Just an anniversary that always gets me thinking.” 

“I see. Care to talk about it?”

With Dick Winters, Nix thinks he could talk about anything. He tips his flask back, catching the last few drops of golden nectar on his tongue, and glances over just in time to catch the intrigued expression Winters is sporting morph into one of surprise. 

“My wedding.” 

“...oh,” says Winters. “I wasn’t aware that you were married.” 

“That’s ‘cause I’m not,” says Nix. “Left her at the altar. Well, not  _ technically  _ at the altar -- didn’t show up to the wedding at all, you see. But I’m sure her family considers it an equal offense.” 

“Ah.” The corner of Dick’s mouth twitches, though with what emotion it is difficult to tell. “Arranged?”

“Aye, right you are. Since we were… three or four, I think? Parents always bought into the myth that we would fall in love as we grew up together, but well, didn’t quite work out that way. Sure, Katherine’s great, but the last thing I wanted was to be tied down to the Nixon empire at seventeen.” As he reminisces of the follies of his boyhood self, a cold spray of mist slaps him in the face, not unlike Muck and his habit of assaulting people with his freshly-caught fish. Nix shivers and edges closer to Winters. 

“What did you do?”

“Easy. Johnny and I snuck onto the next Nixon cargo ship leaving that day --  _ Currahee --  _ and sailed right out of port. By the time they realized I was gone, we were already leagues away.”

It’s difficult to disguise his amusement when Winters is so obviously bursting with curiosity (and yet, Nix has to wonder why). “How did the ship’s hands react?”

“Oh, they’d been expecting us for a while,” he says. “I’d tried more than a few times to stowaway when I was younger. That was the first time the Captain actually let us stay on, though.” 

“And?”

Nix chuckles. “Well, he made me a deal. He was close to retirement, you see, and couldn’t see any of his officers taking her over. So he agreed to take me on as his official successor-in-training so dear old Dad couldn’t force me to come back and get married. Cap’n never liked him much, anyways.” 

He can still imagine his captain’s grizzled face and steely-eyed look when they’d returned to the Nixon docks and confronted his father and the Martins. Stanhope Nixon had been  _ livid  _ with Lewis for bringing such a dishonor on their name, not to mention how he’d spoiled their alliance with the Page family. He’d been ready to drag Lewis home and string him up in the dungeons until he agreed to behave. 

But his Cap’n… he’d stepped right in front of Nix and stated the facts of the matter plainly: Nix was going to take over  _ Currahee _ and only outright violence on the side of Stanhope would change that. As for Johnny, well, they’d accepted him as he was from the moment they’d realized it, helping to cut his hair and dress him appropriately, and they’d chuckled alongside him when his parents couldn’t find their “lovely daughter” onboard. 

Nostalgia warms his heart and coaxes a lilting smile to his face. He looks to Winters and finds him smiling back. 

“And here you are,” he says. 

“Yeah,” Nix agrees. “That was… seven years ago, now, damn. I trained under him for two years before he retired, and most of the old hands went with him, so this crew is all my own.” 

Winters nods. “They’re incredibly loyal to you,” he observes. “It’s clear from the way they talk about you.” 

Nix snorts. “All undeserved praise, of course.” 

“Oh, I don’t think so,” says Winters softly. His hand shifts under Nix’s, turning and interlacing their fingers, thumb stroking the wind-rough skin and sending tremors through him with each touch. His eyes are captivating, a clearer blue than any sky, shining with honesty and affection and Gods-only-know what else.

It’s a look that Nix can’t bear to hold, not when it gets his hopes up so high. “Winters -” 

“Call me Dick, please,” he says. 

He’s so close, edging closer,  _ too  _ close, and Nix can’t take it. “I - I can’t,” he chokes out, pulling his hand away despite how it almost physically hurts to see the man’s expression fall, so minutely and yet so drastically.

"I see," he says, voice calm but laced with regret. "I must have misread things. I apologize for any misstep I may have made, Captain." 

"N-no, don't - it's not you," Nix blusters to explain. "Definitely not you, Winters - Dick - you've been nothing but proper and better to me than I ever deserved, especially after the way I've suspected you. It's just - I can't - I don't - " 

"You don't have to explain yourself, it's fine," says the man. 

"But - but I do, because - you - " Nix swallows and forces himself to look the man in the eyes, knowing that he won't be able to stand himself if he doesn't. "You deserve much better than a washed-up alcoholic rich boy pretending at being a captain," he says. "This - I can't drag you down to my level, Dick. And that's all I'm capable of. And besides, who knows how long you'll be on the  _ Currahee  _ before you go back to the Navy. I couldn't have you doing something you might regret." 

"Like falling in love with you?" asks Dick softly. 

Nix swallows. "Yeah. Like that." 

Dick exhales, the noise so gentle and amused that Nix wants to catch it in a bottle and cherish it. "And what if I already have?" 

"W-well then - wait, what?" 

Dick Winters steps close to him and cups Nix's neck in one broad, warm hand. "I'm a very careful man, Lew," he says. "Especially when it comes to matters of the heart. I don't say any of this lightly, but I am going to say it. You're an amazing man, Lewis Nixon. Your flaws make you who you are. And I know you won't believe me, but I think this could be worth it."

Nix wants to be brave. He wants to lean up and kiss Dick Winters for everything he's worth, to put his heart and soul into the man's hands and fold them around them. But he is no fighter, and he knows it.

He backs away, letting Dick's hand fall back to his side, and shakes his head. "I'm not worth it. Don't give me your heart, Dick. I'll only prove to break it."

It takes all the resolve he has left to turn around and walk away. He goes to his - no, their shared cabin, takes the last bottle of Vat69 out of his chest, drinks the whole thing, and falls into a dreamless sleep. If Dick returns to the room at any time during the night, he doesn't know.

* * *

By the end of the week, they’ve reached Aldbourne. 

The weather proves to be a stubborn piece of work, as the rain comes late and remains the entire last leg of their journey. Nix is utterly sick of it and cannot wait to spend a night in a warm, dry room at the tavern, where he can drown his sorrows in a different sort of torrent. That, and get a good night’s sleep -- he’s been avoiding his cabin ever since he and Dick had spoken, bedding down with the crew instead. 

He doesn’t  _ have  _ to do so. Nothing in Dick’s behavior suggests that he doesn’t want to be near Nix - he’s the same solemn, kind man he’s always been. It’s Nix who can’t face the possibility of being in such close quarters with him. 

Of course, his officers know that something is up, but only Johnny has the wherewithal to confront him about it. 

He does so in the manner best fitting master gunner Peewee Martin, by approaching from behind while Nix is at the helm and smacking him upside the head. 

“Ow! The fuck, mate?” 

“You’re an idiot,” Johnny says plainly, his features written into a scowl. “What did you do this time?” 

Nix glowers at him, irritated that he’s finally been caught out. “What do you mean?”

“You’re acting like a kicked puppy. Get it together and take the man up on his offer.” 

Nix chokes on air. “What - what offer? You -”

“I don’t know the details and I don’t wanna know,” says Johnny. “But it’s fuckin’ obvious that some dumb hang-up of yours is stopping you from shacking up with Winters, and you’ve gotta get over it before he leaves forever.” 

He’s right, of course, and logically Nix knows it, but the shadowy voice in his head known as his self-hatred is good at convincing him otherwise. 

He glances around at the nearby crew -- Hoobler is working on some carpentry project in the sun, whilst Shifty Powers sits nearby and talks his ear off -- and lowers his voice. 

“Well, first of all, I don’t think our local Lieutenant is the type to ‘shack up’ with anybody,” he snorts. 

“He the romantic type? Figures. Gross.” 

“Says Mr. Loveboat himself.” 

“Hey, what Bull and I have going on ain’t none of your business,” snaps Johnny, but his ears flare pink in a characteristic sign of embarrassment. “So what if we sit up and look at the stars sometimes, huh?” 

Nix cackles. 

“Fuck off!” 

“Alright, alright.” Nix raises one hand in surrender from the helm to assuage his friend’s violent tendencies, still grinning. “You know I don’t mean anything by it, Peewee. You two are lucky.” 

“Fuckin’ right, we are,” mutters Johnny, his ears still red. “So, what? He profess his everlasting love to you or somethin’?” 

Nix swallows. “Not quite that dramatic, but something like that, yeah.” 

“And you ran off like a coward?” 

“Hey, listen -”

“No,  _ you  _ listen, fucker,” interrupts Johnny, invading his space and stabbing a finger into Nix’s chest to make his point. Nix blinks, taken aback; he’s used to Johnny’s attitude, but he is rarely so harsh. “That man is one of the best goddamn things that could ever happen to you, and you’re not letting him slip away just because you don’t think you’re good enough. You may be a drunk and a player and a bit of a stuck-up pretty boy -”

“Thanks, John, that makes me feel great about myself -”

“But you’re also one of the best men I’ve ever known, so shut the fuck up and believe it,” finishes Johnny, dark eyes intense. “And if Winters walks off of  _ Currahee  _ thinking he hasn’t got a chance, you’re gonna regret it.” 

With that, the gunner storms off. Nix watches him stalk up to Bull, stiffness melting when the man puts an arm around his shoulders. 

Johnny’s forte is tough love, and it hits him hard. Nix finds himself automatically searching for the eyes of Dick Winters and finds them staring back at him in concern, bluer than the sky above. 

Oh, he’ll regret it, that he knows. But to walk the plank known as love is more frightening than any Sobel mutiny or war threat. 

So they dock in Aldbourne, the Queen’s Port, without so much as another word about the lingering tension between Nix and Dick. 

The rain lingers too, drenching them all as they unload cargo from the hold to the Nixon storehouse, where it will be sorted and distributed to the proper business partners. Skip Muck has taken to singing to keep up morale, but he is barely audible over Malarkey and Penkala’s raucous attempts to drown him out.  Bull is in charge of unloading, while Nix and Lipton settle on a list of supplies to restock for their next trip. 

Where it may take them, there is no telling just yet. Nix aims to meet with the Nixon warehouse officer to see if any new contracts have come up, but there is always Lieutenant Winters to think of.

He'd sent a missive back to Colonel Sink with his trusty falcon Tess, informing him of their new threat and their suspicions. "I trust her to get this to him and no one else," he'd told Nix, tenderly stroking the bird's neck feathers. She’d preened and nuzzled into his hand like a goddamn parakeet.

Still, it raises more worries than reassurances for Nix. There's no telling who might intercept such a letter, even if the messenger is as talented as Dick seems to think Tess is. But there's not much he can do save keep a watchful eye out and hope that they fly under the radar for the time they've left in Aldbourne. 

It is a poor hope, knowing his men and their propensity for mischief. But he warns them nevertheless. 

"Keep your heads down, boys," he says, a step or two above the crew on the deck of the  _ Currahee  _ before most of them are let loose upon the sleepy port town. "Don't attract too much attention while we're here. Yes, Skip, I know that you can't help it," he rolls his eyes as the sailor grins and lowers his hand from its inquisitively raised position. Chuckles scatter amongst the men. "But we've got to take this threat seriously. Who knows what we're up against. Now, Lieutenant Winters will be staying close by, as I understand it, so if anything particularly suspicious comes up, we'll go to him." 

Dick had offered to stay onboard the  _ Currahee _ , just to lend a hand with the transition and maintain the appearance of a steady alliance between  _ Currahee  _ and the Navy, but Nix turned him down. There is little he would like more in the world than to spend more time with the man, but without the day-to-day distractions of sea life, who knows how he might slip, and he can't risk that. So when Winters had come to him and mentioned a local family he could bed down with for the time being, Nix was nothing but supportive on the outside.

Internally, he might hold a bit of a grudge against the Barnes family. 

Just a bit. 

“Hey, Captain!” Somebody shouts. “Can we fuckin’ go now, or what?” 

Cheers of assent echo that sentiment, and Nix snorts. He waves a hand dismissively and a clamorous torrent of sailors charges from  _ Currahee _ into port, where they split several ways to their preferred taverns, all aiming to drown the lonely monotony of the trip in their drink and their women. 

Nix drains the very last of his Vat69 from his flask and tosses it into an empty barrel. Gods know that’s the first merchant he’ll have to visit, especially if Winters is planning on sailing back to Toccoa with them. 

Lipton flanks him as he leaves the ship -- Johnny and Bull are the resident first-night-in-port watch, and they prefer it that way. “Do you think they might pull anything while we’re in port?” he asks, concern furrowing his brow as always. 

If anyone deserves a stress-free night, Nix thinks, it is his quartermaster. 

“Oh, I doubt it,” he bluffs. “All they’ve done so far is send letters. Doesn’t seem like they’re the type to stab sailors in an alley.” 

“And if they have henchmen?” 

“Who? Soldiers? We’ve got Winters to back us up. Stop worrying, Lip! Our men will be just fine.” 

He’s not wrong in that sense. Their enemies can’t be bothered to keep track of every man on the  _ Currahee _ , so they aim for the heart.

* * *

“Hey! Hey! Gimme another one, huh?” slurs Nix, tapping the edge of his tankard against the bar of the Crown Inn. The bartender shoots him a surly look and snags his mug to fill it, froth splashing onto the bar as he slams it back down. 

Nix glances at the spill and then back up. “Well, Gods, man, do you want me to lick the bartop clean?”

“Look, I ain’t in no mood for no trouble, so keep yer fuckin’ mouth shut and drink your ale,” snaps the barman, sweeping the copper coins that litter the bar into a pouch with an equally brown hand. His eyes dart around the tavern, from Nix to the door and back. 

Were he sober, Nix would find the man’s paranoia concerning. As intoxicated as he intends to be, however, he merely laughs. “Alright, mate. Cheers to that.” 

“...cheers.” 

With another drink (or two) under his belt, and the tavern beginning to fill up with the rougher, working crowd filtering in, Nix decides there is no better time to take his leave. 

There is a loud clatter as he pushes his stool away from the bar. He clambers to his feet and gives the bartender a jaunty wave. "Keep it up, my good man.” 

The bartender rolls his eyes. "Whatever, Nixon." 

Nix laughs and stumbles his way to the door. The fresh night air slaps a bit of sobriety back into him, but it is tempered by the alcohol blanket which warms his core and dulls the harsh breeze. He leans against the building and lights his clay pipe, inhaling the welcome tang of tobacco -- another vice he can't seem to shake. 

His mind wanders to Dick, as it is wont to do when a spare moment of peace comes by. No flaws, no vices, no sense of humor, or that's what he'd thought of Dick Winters when the man had first boarded  _ Currahee. _ Niix still isn't sure if he was wrong about the first two.

He wants to see him. 

It's a desire that were he sober, he would easily be able to reason away. But drunk Nix is driven by nothing but impulse, and it has him setting off down the alley in the vague direction of the Barnes house without a second thought. 

The breeze slices through the thin fabric of his clothes without a thought for his comfort. The night is still young, but dark, only the occasional street lamp lighting their way through the streets. And it is quiet. 

Almost too quiet. 

Nix notices his tail too late. 

The pitter-patter of footsteps quickens to a dash just as he turns to face his attacker and is slashed at with a dagger. Silver flashes in the golden lamplight as the tip slices through his shirt, drawing a thin line of blood across his chest. 

Nix stumbles backwards, eyes going wide, but there is no time for confusion. Again, the shadowy figure darts at him. 

Alcohol mutes his reflexes. This time the dagger sinks between his ribs like butter. 

He gasps and it tastes like copper and feels red-hot and excruciating. Every hitch of his breath doubles the pain and his vision blurs, but Nix maintains enough control to grab his attacker’s hands and rip them away, leaving the dagger lodged in his breast. It’s gone somewhere between his ribs, he thinks, but Nix is no Doc Spina. 

His assailant steps away, out of reach. All-black clothing and a mask obscures their identity, but the voice is clearly male, rasping and smug. “Too far from your precious ship to get help now, aren’t you? That Lieutenant of yours will have some explaining to do when his charge shows up dead.” 

His Lieutenant? Dick. 

Nix coughs and chokes on the mouthful of blood that arises. His hands tremble around the dagger; one knee gives out and he careens to the ground. Despite how pathetic he looks, though, one realization pierces through the fog of pain. 

They think Dick is back on  _ Currahee.  _ If he can just survive long enough to get to the Barnes’... 

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll be dead pretty soon,” gloats the shadow. “May as well just accept it.” 

Nix spits at his feet, but it gives him an idea. He gives into the utter relief of sinking to the ground, half-slumped against the wall, and lets his eyes close and breath go shallow. It hurts less that way.

Only a few seconds of blissful silence pass. “That easy, huh? Damn. Wish I’d killed you in daylight - then we could’ve had a fair fight.” 

Nix just focuses on letting his breathing go. 

"Well then. I guess the boss will be happy about this," mutters his attacker before the soft sound of footsteps departing fills the silence. 

Nix waits until his ears catch nothing but the straining of his own breath before he opens his eyes, squinting in pain. He’s lucky the man was a moron who didn’t check to see if he was dead, but he might come back. 

With one unsteady hand he pushes against the stone wall, levering himself upwards. It is all he can do to stand and totter down the alley, bracing himself for a fall with every step. 

He knows the route from memory. Down the winding path that crosses the stream and just to the left of the huge manor that towers over most of Aldbourne is a small cottage, its front blinds drawn but illuminated with the glow of light from within. Nix stumbles up the walk, a crimson trail of breadcrumbs left in his wake, and falls against the door. 

Please be here. 

With the last of his strength, he pounds haphazardly on the door. Were he focused, he would catch the affronted gasp of a woman whose calm evening with her family has just been rudely interrupted, and then a gentle, "Check on that for me, Richard, wouldn't you?" But all that is caught is Nix himself as the door swings open and he falls through it, right into a strangely familiar set of arms. 

"Nix!" 

Dick's cry is frantic in his ear as he supports both their weight. Just the touch of his hands is enough to tell Nix that he's safe, and with that, consciousness slips away from him. 

"I'm fine..." 

"Nix!"

* * *

It is a long time before the world comes back to Lewis Nixon. 

It returns in fits and starts, in the light of a lantern illuminating the inside of his eyelids and the precious squeeze of a hand in his. And with these softer sensations comes the sharp burn of pain in his chest, lighting him aflame with every breath. 

He resists consciousness then, hoping to sink back into the warm numbness of the void, but that hand pulls him back again, squeezing tightly. 

“Lew?” comes a hesitant murmur. “Are you awake?”

And how is he to say no to Dick Winters? 

He squeezes back, a quick pulse, and the air rustles with fabric noises and the sense that someone presses close to him. “Nix, open your eyes for me,” says Dick. 

Nix tries, but the light is too much, piercing arrows of pain through his skull, and he shakes his head minutely. 

“You can’t? Why? Is it the light?”

He makes a noise that is meant to be affirmative and seconds later the blaze is snuffed out, consumed by twilight. 

"There. Better?" 

Nix groans something of a "Yes" and finally urges his eyes to open. Dick hovers over him, hands fluttering across the planes of his face as if he fears Nix might slip away from him again. He lights up with a brilliantly relieved smile and Nix thinks it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. 

"Thank the Gods," he breathes. "You're okay, Lew. You're fine." 

He doesn't  _ feel  _ fine and he says so. Dick chuckles weakly. "That's understandable. Doc Spina says that you'll be bedridden for a couple of days, at least. The dagger went straight through a lung, but luckily it was a shallow wound." 

"Luckily?" he rasps, raising an eyebrow. 

"Well, as lucky as you could be considering the circumstances," Dick admits. "Honestly, Nix, a longer weapon or a few inches over and… things might be different.” 

“I would’ve died a horrible, bloody death in that alley, you mean.” 

He winces and Nix regrets his choice of words. “Well… yes. The fact that you even made it to the Barnes’ cottage without passing out is an act of the Gods, Lew.” 

Nix doesn’t quite share his gratitude, perhaps because it must’ve been an act of the Gods to attack him in the first place. He glances around at his surroundings for the first time, recognizing his cabin with a start. 

“We’re back on the  _ Currahee? _ ” he asks. 

“Aye. We thought it would be safer to leave port so word that you were alive couldn’t get back to the wrong people,” says Dick. 

“Oh. How long has it been?”

“Not long. You’ve only been out for a day.” 

“Ah. Do we have a destination?” Nix hadn’t gotten the chance to arrange a new contract with the Nixon suppliers. 

Dick shrugs. “For now I’ve instructed the men to head towards Port Toccoa. We may not have commercial business, but I think it would be best to reconnect with Colonel Sink, considering this new turn of events. And, well…” 

He leans over and retrieves the dagger that had nearly put Nix out of commission. In the faint moonlight that filters through their porthole, he can see the faint indents of a crest that someone attempted to file away. 

“This is a standard Navy-issue weapon,” says Dick. Nix’s eyes go wide. “They did a shoddy job of hiding it. And these aren’t easy to get your hands on, either.” 

“So…”

“It’s rather certain proof that your attacker is a Navy affiliate,” says Dick. “I don’t mean to press, Lew, but… did they say anything incriminating? Of course, if it’s too painful to remember --” 

“I’m not that bad of a coward,” Nix interjects sharply. Near-death experiences are nothing to Lewis Nixon, or so he wants to think. “And no, he didn’t say much. He knew that you were with us, but thought you were back on the ship. Mentioned a boss, but no details.” 

“Not much to go on,” Dick muses. 

"No, it's not."

Silence hangs between them for a moment, thick with emotion that neither can put into words. Nix aches, physically and emotionally, to have Dick close, but even now, he can't bring himself to say it. 

"Well," says Dick softly, "it doesn't really matter. We're safe here, I think. What really matters is that you're alive, Lew. I can't... I can't say how relieved that makes me." 

Nix swallows and meets his moonshine eyes; for once, the sarcasm is drained from him and all he can say is, "Me, too. I'm not ready to die yet." 

"Good, cause you won't be. Not for a long, long time.” Dick says fervently. 

If only Nix had that much confidence. As it is, though, the pain that stabs him with every shallow breath is an unwelcome reminder of his mortality -- and what’s more, his weakness. He’s never been a fighter: his duel with Sobel certainly proved that. Nix’s talent for getting out of scrapes relies on pure luck and he knows it, perhaps better than anyone else. 

They’ve got to be realistic here - the waters they’re treading into are bound to go way over their heads. Nix is dedicated to the risk of drowning, but are his men? He’s not sure. 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Dick,” he says. “You know as well as I do that we’re up against something big.” 

Dick’s mouth draws into a thin line, a show of his resolve. “I can and will make that promise, Lew. I’m going to keep you safe, no matter what I have to do.” 

Beautiful, stubborn bastard. 

“What’s your priority here, Dick?” he asks, suddenly  _ needing  _ to know, his next step hinging on the answer. “Are you really willing to turn against the Navy?”

Nix watches his throat bob as he swallows, blinks, stares back at him. Dick’s eyes are indescribably blue even in the pale moonlight, shining with honesty and a sparkle of hope that he tries to hide. 

“You,” he says. “You’ve been my priority since day one, Lew. I just hadn’t realized how important you would become.” 

Neither had Nix, but Death’s presence at his side was a necessary reminder. And if Death plans to remain this close to them, well… Nix sees no more reason to deny himself. 

It’s painful to sit up all the way, but he forces himself, gasping as the strain sends waves of pain throughout his chest, but Dick is there, chiding him while nevertheless helping him up, not denying him this freedom. When Nix is finally upright, his spine thanking him for the shift in posture, he leans over and catches Dick’s face between his palms. 

His skin is just as soft as Nix remembers it. 

“You’re important to me, too,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry I haven’t shown it.” 

Dick smiles, unmoving. “But you have,” he says. “You trusted me to help you. That’s more than I could ask for.” 

“And what would you ask for, if you could?” Nix’s thumb glides over a cheekbone, over a mole, the slightest bit of pressure coloring Dick’s gaze dark with intrigue. 

“What would you give me, Lew?” he responds lowly. 

“Everything.” 

Dick’s expression glows with happiness that NIx can’t help but reciprocate. “Then I’d take everything.” 

“Oh, greedy, now are we?” Nix teases, loving the way Dick’s pout goes slack as he presses closer, eyes flickering with surprise. His skin burns hot against Nix’s hands, like the sun, but this is a burn he wants. “What a surprise.” 

“Only for you,” he says, breathless, Nix  _ likes  _ that, likes the way Dick melts into his touch, something submissive in the gesture that is rarely seen from the man. 

“That’s alright,” says Nix. “I’m greedy, too.” 

The first press of their lips together is soft, hesitant, but it does not last for long as need overtakes them both. Dick really is a greedy lover, Nix finds, as he quickly takes control with pure fervor until the ache for oxygen in Nix's lungs becomes more pain than pleasure and he has to break away, panting. 

"Gods," he breathes with a laugh, "you weren't kidding." 

"Sorry," Dick flushes, though he doesn't look very apologetic. "I've been waiting a long time for that." 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You should rest, though," he says, actually regretful this time. "Don't strain yourself." 

"A little too late for that," Nix huffs, giving in to the need to lay back, propping himself up on his elbows. "Don't give me that look, silly. I started it. And I certainly don't regret it. We just might have to wait until I can function properly again to do anything too...  _ straining _ ." 

He cherishes the bright flush that rises to Dick's cheeks like a precious gift. " R-right. So you're..." 

"I'm all in, Dick," he says. "For this -- us -- and for stopping this war. If anything I'm even more invested now that I have revenge to exact. You can’t just stab a Nixon and get away with it.” 

“Right,” Dick chuckles, though something in the sound is pained. “Well, I’m sure you’re probably exhausted, Lew. You should get some sleep.”

Now that someone has said it, Nix does register the fatigue sapping his strength and coaxing him back to sleep despite his best efforts. He frowns nevertheless and Dick smiles, answering his unspoken request. “I’ll stay if you’d like me to.” 

“Yeah,” Nix murmurs, tilting back onto the pillows, his eyes fluttering between open and closed.. “You should.” 

“Alright, Lew.” 

His protector settles into the chair at his side, sailing manual open beside him. The soft feeling of a hand in his hair lulls Nix back into the warm safety of sleep.

* * *

As soon as he is awake and coherent long enough to take visitors, there is a line out the door of Nix’s cabin of men wanting to check on him. It is quite overwhelming, but he’s touched nevertheless. 

Lipton, of course, frets like a mother hen as soon as he sets eyes on NIx. It takes the trio of himself, Dick, and Spina a good five minutes to convince him that no, Nix isn’t going to die anytime soon as long as he doesn’t reopen any wounds, and yes, he’s been doing a fine job in the Captain’s absence. 

Not that Nix was worried, of course. If there’s any other man besides Dick that he would trust to captain  _ Currahee,  _ it is his quartermaster. 

After Lip has been reassured, the train goes on and on. Johnny Martin nearly attacks him for “having the audacity to think someone else can kill you when obviously I’m gonna do it,” and is only held back by Bull, who just smiles and mumbles “Glad t’ see you’re alright, Cap’n.” The K trio of Malarkey, Muck, and Penkala crowd in together and perform an impromptu jig to “raise his spirits,” which mostly just makes NIx want spirits in the form of Vat69. They’re good kids, though, and he shooes them off with a smile. 

By the time night has fallen, NIx is rather sure the  _ Currahee _ ’s entire crew has cycled through his cabin. His exhaustion must show on his face, as Dick smiles fondly once he’s closed the door to the last visitor. 

“How are you holding up?”

“I feel like I’m back at some fancy Nixon function, except everything hurts,” he complains. “Maybe it’s my funeral. Gods know they’d expect me to greet people at the thing.” 

Dick chuckles and perches on the edge of the cot; Nix deliberately scoots over and pulls him down with an arm around his waist. “That might be a little difficult,” he agrees. 

“Who knows, maybe they’d pull some necromancy shit just to keep the family name alive.” 

“Is it really that important to them?”

Nix fixes his lover with a tired look. “Dick, I may be a permanent disappointment to the Nixon family, but in their minds I still represent them. You know why I wasn’t worried about the Sobel mutiny? Because I knew as soon as Stanhope caught word of it he’d have it all swept under the rug with a bribe to the King and a quick word with the Colonel. I’ve got privilege, Dick, that none of my men have. And I have to use that privilege to protect them.” 

Dick is quiet, eyes cast downward in solemn thought. “I understand needing to put your men before yourself. But you’re not invincible, Nix,” he says eventually. “And the name makes you a target. I just… need you to be careful.” 

It’s a sweet request and Nix can’t help but smile, reaching up to pull him into a kiss. 

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m not planning on sword-fighting any time soon if I can help it. I think we’ll be safe on these seas, anyway. The only danger in these waters is pirates, and we have nothing to offer them.”

* * *

Nothing, that is, save for themselves. 

Nix’s dreams are troubled. The background itself is incomprehensible; he knows merely that his men are endangered and that screams fill the air, punctuated by the metallic clash of weapons and the booming noise of cannon fire. He struggles to get out of bed to help but straps tie him down, invisible restraints that seem almost to laugh at him as he thrashes.

In every dream, the ending is the same. Nix watches helplessly as the door to his cabin opens and a fatally wounded Dick stumbles in, a rain of blood splattering the deck with every step. The mortal blow varies every time: sometimes it is a skewer through the stomach, sometimes a slash to the throat. 

But Nix is always, always helpless. 

When he awakens, Nix invariably searches out Dick. He is moving out and about now, on direct orders from Spina to “fill up those lungs with some fresh sea air” and ensure that he doesn’t catch pneumonia. 

He's unsure what day it is now -- perhaps three or four since he'd awoken? -- but the night air is sharp with the salt-scent of the water and the breeze nips at his bare toes as he pads onto the deck. A thick fog has settled over the world and he struggles to make out details of his men. 

Luckily, Dick comes to him, frowning in confusion. He's finally abandoned the Navy uniform for plainclothes like the rest of them and it strikes Nix with an almost possessive sense of satisfaction. He is truly one of them now, at least in spirit. 

"Is something wrong, Lew?" he asks.

Nix has held his tongue about the dreams so far, unwilling to admit that something so mundane has him so shaken. Even now, he swallows and hesitates. "Just couldn't sleep, is all," he says. "How's it been?" 

"Ah, navigation’s as difficult as to be expected.  I think we’re on course, though. You’re much better with the instruments than I am.” Dick wraps an arm around his waist, fingers curling against his bare skin. “You’re cold, Nix. Are you sure you should be out here?”

“I just needed some fresh air,” he bluffs. “C’mon, let’s go up top, enjoy the view.” 

“The view, right,” Dick chuckles, his grip steady and comforting as Nix toddles up the stairs. His wounds are closed now, but the internal damage still has him wincing with every breath. 

Nix leans against the railing, staring into the fog and the choppy waves below. Snippets of his dream flash before his eyes with every blink, but he chases it away with a shake of his head. 

“You alright, Lew?” asks Dick softly. His arm settles around Nix and rests atop his in an evocative repeat of that night, which feels so long ago now. So much has changed in such a short period of time that it makes Nix laugh. 

“What?”

“Just thinking about what an idiot I was to even consider rejecting you,” he says, squeezing Dick’s hand.  “You know, Johnny came to me afterwards. Made sure I knew right well that if we split ways in Aldbourne and I didn’t say anything, I’d regret it. I knew he was right but I couldn’t bring myself to admit it.”

“Then it’s a good thing we haven’t parted ways, I suppose,” says Dick after a moment. But I’d rather have you unharmed.”

“Can’t have everything, I suppose.” Nix squeezes his hand, biting his tongue as he struggles to put his emotions to words, stomach twisting with a general sense of now-or-never. “Dick, there’s something I want to --”

“Captain NIx! There’s a ship approachin’! FIne on the starboard side!” 

Shifty’s exclamation breaks the moment like shattering glass. They turn simultaneously to the crow’s nest, the fog so thick Nix can barely make out the silhouette of their lookout as he points. He shares a look with Dick, dread in their eyes as they hurry to look. 

She looms out of the fog, her sails ghost-white and spectre-like, marred only by the ship’s colors: red square depicting a black bird, its claws painted a sharp yellow to contrast. 

Nix’s dream comes back to him as his veins fill with ice. “Pirates,” he says aloud, and as if his words make it real, the figures of sailors appear on the other deck, weapons in hand. “That’s the  _ Magpie’s Wrath _ .” 

“Pirates? Are you sure, Nix?” asks Dick, but his expression is already set with resolve. 

Nix’s gaze doesn’t leave the other deck as the gap between the two closes; there’s no outrunning them now. No point in trying from the start. “Sure, Dick. They don’t pretend to be anything but.” 

“Right. They must be in on it, then.” 

Nix takes pause. “You think they’ve been sent to attack us on purpose?”

“It’s certainly possible. No matter what, though, it looks like we’ll have to fight.” 

Dick strolls down to the main deck, snags the horn, and blows three short notes to call the men to battle stations. Mere seconds pass before hands begin to filter onto the  _ Currahee's  _ deck, bleary eyes sharpening as they take in the threat and prepare for battle. 

As the  _ Magpie's Wrath _ draws close enough for him to make out details, Nix joins his men. Dick is already briefing them: they glance at Nix but follow his orders without question. 

He's been their captain since Nix was attacked, really. Once upon a time he would have been offended by the thought, but now it feels right. 

From his cabin he fetches his belt and sword, strapping them to his side. The last time he'd wielded it was his duel against Sobel; this is a great deal more important. His stint in the brig with Webster is nothing compared to the consequences if they lose this fight. 

When he turns back, Dick is standing in the doorway. Nix knows what he plans to say, and not even the sharp pain in his side discourages him. 

"I'm fighting," he insists. 

Dick shakes his head. "No, Lew," he says. "It's not safe." 

"This is  _ my  _ ship, Dick.  _ I  _ am her Captain, and these are  _ my  _ men."

"And your men agree with me, Lew." Dick looks as though he wants nothing more than to embrace him, but there erupts a flurry of battle cries behind him as they are boarded, and his expression hardens. "We need you alive and safe.  _ I  _ need you safe." 

"Dick -" 

Nix rushes towards the door too late, slamming into the barrier with all the meager strength he can muster. The click of a lock seals his fate. 

"Dick! Don't do this!" he shouts desperately. 

"Guard him with your life," says Dick to an unknown sailor. A hearty grunt that resembles Bull Randleman's voice follows.

"Bull! Let me out, damnit!" 

His only answer is the clashing of swords and the cries of his men as they fight for their lives. 

Nix punches the door and yells in frustration as terror seizes his heart in a vice-grip. He's never loved and hated Dick, or his crew, more than in this moment in which they refuse to let him risk his life by their sides, when there would be no greater honor. His body aches, but no pain is greater than the thought of his dreams coming to life. 

He almost laughs, then, and channels a generous "Fuck you" to the gods for toying with him so. 

"Alright," says Nix to himself, glancing about the cabin for any sort of inspiration. "Getting out. Getting out." 

He shuffles over to his desk, wincing in pain with each movement and hating that it proves Dick's point -- he is in no condition to fight, and doing so puts everything at risk. But who is Lewis Nixon to listen to reason? 

Scrambling through the drawers of his desk, Nix resurfaces with a set of thieves' tools he'd once confiscated from Skip Muck. Gods bless the man; he'd better be alive. The problem now is his total ineptitude with the stuff. 

As he fiddles with the lock on the door, Nix listens intently to the battle raging outside. It is difficult to make out individual voices, but his men are no fighters, and they are undoubtedly outmatched by the pirates. 

Something heavy slams against the door, jostling Nix's tools out of the lock. 

" _ Bull _ !”

"Gods," mutters Nix in horror, forcing himself to focus despite his imagination conjuring up images of his boatswain bleeding out or dead on the other side. You can't help him from in here, Lewis. 

There is a near-inaudible click and Nix yanks the door open, only to have Bull take him out at the knees as his support disappears. A dark stain spreads underneath the fingers clutching his shoulder. He and Johnny, who crouches at his side, stare at Nix in panic. 

"C-Cap'n, don't --"

"Nix -" 

But his eyes are locked on Dick: Dick swinging a sword so effortlessly he looks like he was born to, Dick looking so intently focused that it’s almost enchanting, Dick not noticing the pirate approaching from behind with a sword at the ready --

“Dick! Behind!” 

As Nix scrambles to his feet, his lover swirls around to parry the attack with a silvery clash of swords. The pirate scowls intently, one leg stiff and wooden, though intricately carved with runes that must grant him some control over it. Behind Dick, his opponent hovers, face hidden under a black tricorn hat and pistol at the ready. 

Nix leaps over Bull’s prone form and he’s running, running, running -- 

The pirate captain cocks his flintlock and aims -- 

Nix tackles him just as the spark ignites, the shot firing who-knows-where. The pirate staggers but holds his ground, just long enough for Nix to punch him in the face before he is flung back against Dick, who barely catches him. The collision hurts more than getting stabbed, but there is no time for pain. 

There is only Dick Winters and the horrified, pained expression he wears as he clutches his injured leg and the need to protect him rising like a phoenix from its ashes. 

Nix blockades him, sword at the ready. 

“Lew, no -- ”

“So you must be Nixon,” says the pirate captain, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth, hat gone in the wind. Through the dim moonlight, Nix can make out little more than a pair of dark eyes and wild, curly hair. He straightens but makes no move to attack. “I see you prefer dramatic entrances.”

“You could say that,” responds Nix. “And you’re Speirs, the  _ Magpie’s  _ captain. Scourge of the seas, or so they say.” 

“So they do,” says Speirs. He steps forward; Nix bristles but does not move. 

Around them, the fight wanes as pirates and sailors alike take notice of their captains’ standoff; there is a clear power imbalance, however, and most of the Currahee’s crew is already wounded or disarmed. 

“Nix, you shouldn’t be here,” Dick hisses in his ear. 

He’s right again -- pain lances through his body with every breath, and he’s not sure how long he could hold out in a duel. But none of that matters. 

Nix turns and pins him with a look. 

“I won’t leave you alone,” he says. 

Dick stares back, and one corner of his mouth twitches in what is almost a fond smile. Nix shrugs, returning the expression. He’s all in, for better or worse, ‘til death do they part. 

“Cute,” says Speirs flatly, ruining the moment. “Now, I’m afraid we have some business to discuss.” 

“Right.” Nix turns back to him. “Tell me. What good does a pirate like you get out of starting a war?” 

Speirs’ eyes widen almost imperceptibly, but his expression quickly smooths out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“There’s no point in lying. Look, I’ll swing you a deal,” says Nix. 

An eyebrow cocked, Speirs prowls a circle around the pair. “Now that’s a little more interesting, Nixon. What do you have to offer?”

“You tell us who your employer is,” he says, “and I’ll get you all the treasure you could want. You must have targeted  _ Currahee  _ knowing who she belongs to. There’s nothing on board right now, but I can get whatever you want.” 

Speirs scowls, as do many of his pirates. “I have no employer. I’ll take your deal. But I’m afraid if you’ve nothing on board to give, I’ll have to take one of your men as collateral. How about your friend there behind you?” 

"Don't even  _ think  _ about laying another finger on him," snaps Nix viciously. He watches Speirs' expression twist to one of almost amusement as he slowly stalks around the pair, like a panther awaiting its chance to strike. 

"Lew," starts Dick. 

"No. He can't have you." 

"Then perhaps I ought to take you, Nixon," says Speirs. "I'm sure your family will pay a handsome sum to take you off my hands." 

Dick grabs his arm tightly and Nix stumbles as he pushes him behind him, standing tall despite the furrow of a bullet's path through his leg, the wound bleeding heavily as he leans on it. "No," he asserts. "I'm afraid that won't be possible, Captain Speirs. If you'd like to lay a hand on Captain Nix, then you'll have to go through me. And the rest of his men." 

A subtle rumble of agreement comes from the men of the  _ Currahee _ , despite their situation. Nix looks around at everyone -- Hoobler holding a plank of wood as a weapon, Malarkey and Muck and Penkala crowded into a corner together by a tall blonde pirate and his fluffy-haired sidekick, Johnny Martin glaring at them from Bull's side -- and laughs incredulously. 

No man has ever been graced with a better crew than he is. And Dick, the man he is utterly in love with, speaks for them all. 

Speirs has no time for their emotional revelations, so it would seem. "Well, then I'm afraid we've come to an impasse," he says. "And I've no desire to negotiate. One man's life or everyone's --  _ who  _ is coming with me?"

"I'll go." 

Heads turn as Lipton steps forward, sword already dropping to the deck. The gods seize Nix's heart with an icy hand of fear. 

Of all the things he thought he’d lose… of all the dreams he’d had, this wasn’t one of them.

“No!” he shouts, and he isn’t the only one. All across the  _ Currahee's  _ deck, renewed struggles break out as their men physically revolt against the thought. Lipton stills them all with a hand and a shout. 

"Boys! Calm down," he says, turning to meet eyes with Nix; he is as calm and reassuring as ever, but Nix sees the hidden layer of fear behind his mask. He approaches the trio, pirates backing out of his way to let him through.

_ Don't do this, _ Nix says with his eyes, but Lip smiles at him gently and nods to Dick. 

_ You need each other. And the men need you.  _

Nix shakes his head.  _ They need you too.  _

"Well," drawls Speirs, grinning like the cat that caught the canary, "Seems we might have a candidate. Who’s this?”

Lipton straightens. “Lipton. Quartermaster of the  _ Currahee.” _

“I see. And they’ll pay for you?”

"You touch one hair on his goddamn head and I will hunt you down and gut you like a fish," snarls Nix. 

Speirs hums. "I suppose that answers that question." And he steps forward, seizing Lipton’s arm in a vice grip that makes him wince. Nix steps forward to intercept them and Speirs’ other hand flashes a dagger, pressed to Lip’s back. 

“Now, don’t be like that,” he purrs. “This is just insurance. You get us what we want and you have my word he won’t be harmed.” 

“And the word of a pirate is worth what, exactly?” asks Dick. 

He scowls, clearly offended. “You have  _ my word. _ ” 

“Don’t worry,” says Lipton. A sudden addition: “I trust him.” 

Even the pirate captain is taken aback at that, gaze affixed on Lip with an almost intrigued glimmer in those dark eyes. The moment passes with a blink and then he is dragging Lipton back, until the quartermaster is forced into the grip of the pirate with the wooden leg.

All Nix -- no, all anyone can do is watch in horror as their beloved quartermaster is forced back across the gap to the  _ Magpie’s Wrath _ . 

Of course, still being Lipton, the man chooses to reassure them rather than worry about his own safety. “Hang in there, boys!” he shouts across the decks, craning to look at them. “Don’t worry about me!”

“Don’t  _ worry _ about him, he says!” squeaks Skip Muck. “As if  _ we’re  _ the ones being taken prisoner on a pirate ship and not him!” 

Nix barely hears him. All he can think about is the steps ahead. 

“What do you want?” he asks curtly. 

Speirs hums thoughtfully and Nix resists the urge to lunge at him. “I hadn’t thought about it,” he muses, as though choosing an entree at a restaurant instead of negotiating a hostage exchange. “I’d expected you to have cargo. Has anyone searched the ship?”

“Ain’t nothin’ worth takin’, sir,” reports a redheaded man with a sharp nasal accent. 

“Disappointing. A moment, please.” Speirs withdraws a pencil and scrap of paper from the depths of his black coat and scrawls a list upon it. He thrusts it at Nix, who doesn’t even bother to read it. Whatever the demands, he’ll get Lipton back. 

“Pleasure doing business with you,” says Speirs. 

“The next time we meet, I’m going to kill you,” responds Nix. 

A smirk twitches his lips as Speirs nods to him. “I look forward to watching you try.” 

He swirls around and stalks towards his ship, beckoning for his crew to follow. One by one, weapons still drawn in case of a fight, the pirates retreat towards their boarding points and follow their captain across. 

Nix storms to the edge of the deck. “Speirs!” he shouts. “When and where?”

Speirs pauses before going into his cabin. “One month,” he responds. “Mourmelon-le-Grand.” 

“We’ll be there. You’d better keep your word.” 

Without another word, the pirate captain descends into the depths of his ship. The last stragglers cross the gap and withdraw their boards and hooks, leaving the  _ Currahee _ , and the  _ Magpie’s Wrath  _ draws away as quickly as she had descended. 

Moments later, the fog has swallowed her up. 

The loss leaves his men numb, staring dully at each other and venting under their breath. It is all Nix can do to resist the same urge; despite the disbelief that still consumes him, he knows that they need a Captain now more than ever. 

“Spina!” he shouts. “Start tending to the wounded. The deck needs to be swabbed -” of blood, he doesn’t say, “ - and Malarkey, if you can cook, do it. Gods know we all need a warm meal right now.” 

He’s about to head to the navigation room to pinpoint their location adjacent to Mourmelon-le-Grand, a commune known for its association with pirates, when Dick lays a hand on his arm. 

“Lew,” he says softly, “just sit with me for a minute. Okay?”

“Things need to get done, Dick.” 

“They can wait. You look like you’re about to collapse, Lew. Please.” 

Nix’s thoughts are racing, but his body acquiesces with Dick’s request despite himself and he nearly crumples to the floor, slowed only by the arm around his waist. Dick lowers them to the ground carefully, favoring his injured leg but with his eyes locked on Nix. 

His chest hurts, but his heart hurts more. Anger and fear and disbelief swirl through him in a whirlwind that makes him tremble and clench his fists. 

“We’ll get him back,” says Dick. “We’ll rescue him.” 

“It shouldn’t have been him in the first place. It should have been me.” 

“I couldn’t let that happen, Nix.” Their fingers lace together, a shared lifeline. “And neither could Lip.” 

Nix looks up to the night sky, where the sliver of a moon peeks out from behind the fog. “When?” he asks softly, to Dick or the gods, he’s not sure. “When will you stop sacrificing others for me? I’m not worth it!” 

Hands seize his shoulders and Dick forces his gaze down; fatigue smudges darkness underneath his eyes and draws lines around his mouth. He is bloodied, bruised, and painfully beautiful.

“The gods might have caused our paths to cross, but Lip is the one who made the decision to offer himself up,” he says firmly. “Because he believes in you. In  _ us.  _ We can’t break that trust, Nix.” 

He’s right. Nix has never looked to the gods for guidance; he makes his own destiny, as do his men. And they will not stop now. 

“Yeah,” he says. “And you, Dick?” 

His lover smiles. “I’m all in.” 

The crew congregates as the sunrise begins to break over the horizon, tendrils of lavender and rose curling into the sky and pushing back the night. Wounds have been tended to and losses taken into account; none dead, though some are worse off than others. Shifty Powers is perhaps in the most critical condition, but Spina assures him that their lookout will pull through. 

They are battered and beaten, but stand tall for Nix as he addresses them, the sun haloing him in golden light, with Dick at his side. 

“We’re going to get him back,” he says. “No doubt about it. I’ll do anything and I trust that you’re all with me.” 

“Of course we are!” shouts Malarkey. 

“Yeah! We’re gonna fuck them up!” 

“Cheers to that!” 

Nix feels the hint of an exhausted smile tug at his lips. He searches out Dick’s hand again, rough and warm in his own. “Who are we?”

“The crew of  _ Currahee! _ ” 

“Three times up, three times down.” 

“Hi-ho silver!” 

“I’ll have to learn that one,” Dick quips as the men rally, their expressions weary but determined, united in their goal. 

Nix smiles, squeezes his hand. “You definitely will, considering your promotion.” 

“Huh?” Dick turns to him quizzically, blue eyes crinkling. 

“To Captain, of course. Well, co-captain. Can’t have you usurping all of my authority with your knowledge and charming good looks.”

Dick’s smile grows slowly, but surely, until he outshines the sun. 


End file.
